Long Nights
by Green1
Summary: *Yuuram* Wolfram finds a hidden treasure in a dusty store room and activates it to ill effects.
1. Chapter 1

Long Nights

Chapter 1

notes: This is Yuuram, plain and simple. Words all in CAPS are the same as italics. I write using editpad so no italic button here.

disclaimer: I don't own KKM or the characters.

Beta: pyrrhicvictoly (yay! I have a beta!)

Wolfram almost passed over it. He must've seen the plate a thousand times, though he had never been aware of it. This back storeroom had been his for as long as he could remember. It was a tiny crack of a room, with a thin wooden door that screeched as he opened it. The room was largely forgotten, having been filled with the odds and ends of centuries of magical treasures. He doubted if anyone knew what a tenth of the items did.

That suited him just fine. No one came down here anymore, and he could hide in the small room for hours on end. He had pawed through the boxes filled with littered debris and had never gotten in trouble with any of the items before.

'Stupid, stupid wimp!' Wolfram caught up a small gold ball just to keep him from destroying the room. Sure, he'd seen that the Lady had fallen down, but Yuuri didn't have to act so concerned over it! He didn't have to lift her up like that either, he thought as his mind replayed the gracious way Yuuri had bent over the fallen Lady's hand.

There were much less... concerned ways to pick people up. He could've yanked her up by her elbow. That would've shown her what a fool she'd been. He could've put his hands under her armpits and--

He dashed that thought out. The chances of Yuuri touching her breasts, even accidentally, were too great to be borne. With HIS luck, Yuuri would have declared himself straight once and for all and married her on the spot. Bah!

He should've allowed Conrad pick her up; let the little child blink doe eyes at his brother. Wolfram could admit that Lady Jolene was beautiful. He wasn't a blind fool. (Well, not blind, anyway.) It was high time Conrad got married anyway. And it was utterly unnatural for him to hover around HIS fianc like that! Yuuri didn't need Conrad when he had Wolfram to protect him. That was far better than any...

His grip on the ball tightened and he threw it at the ground. It tinkled as it hit, as if it had a million silver chimes inside, then bounced off the wall, far into the air. Too far. Wolfram stretched to grab the ball, but his fingers only grazed it. He slipped, arms wind-milling to balance himself.

His hand found a box and he grabbed it, realizing too late that it wasn't attached to the shelves. It hit the ground hard, but didn't shatter, and the lid was still wedged on tightly. He vaguely remembered trying to pry off the lid, but didn't remember if he'd ever been able to. He grumbled, gathering a few scattered things that had fallen off with the box.

He sighed and looked at his palms. He'd cut up the heel of his left hand, the one that hadn't grabbed onto anything. He winced as he dug bits of stone out and brought the seeping wound to his mouth. Healing was the easiest of magical spells a Mazoku could learn, but it couldn't be done on oneself.

The truth was, he didn't like feeling like this, being so jealous. It didn't make him feel better to yell and holler at Yuuri over this. He just couldn't stop himself. It was as if the impulse overtook him and his rational mind was gone until it was over. It made him feel horrible.

Even IF Yuuri decided that he loved him, would that change anything? He wondered. Would it make him happy? He was sure it would, for a short time. But after the initial glow of happiness left, he'd fall right back into his old insecurities. Maybe they would be worse this time, knowing now how much he could possibly lose. Surely, with enough time, he would drive Yuuri away.

That thought burned in his mind the most these days. Nothing he could do or say or think got rid of it.

He got to his knees, gathered the fallen items, and put them back on the shelves behind him.

'Even if I did have him, I wouldn't be happy. I'll never be able to trust him. What good is marriage without trust?' Losing Yuuri to anyone would shatter him. He'd never recover. The first time had almost killed him. He knew now how weak a person was. One the other hand, he'd never be able to give Yuuri up. Giving up just wasn't in his nature. No, it was more than that - he truly loved his King. It was the kind of love he'd locked away a long time ago.

He scratched his head and turned, surveying the room to make sure he hadn't missed anything. 'The ball!' He couldn't see it, and the light filtering in through the small, rectangular window was growing dimmer.

He turned to leave, but paused. His eyes fell upon a plain blue plate and arrested there. He frowned, brows wrinkling. It hadn't been there before. He picked it up; a round, dustless section of black wood gleamed at him.

He shrugged and tried to put it down, but found himself turning it round and round, end over end in his hands. No. The surface wasn't plain at all, he saw now. It seemed glazed and perfectly smooth and... wet?

'What the...' The solid blue of the plate had changed to a mixture of blues and whites, like sea foam on a shifting ocean.  
He would've dropped it but for the fact that his hands held on to it with a death grip. His knuckles had gone white and his fingers hurt from the pressure of holding it. The surface of the plate ebbed and flowed. The soft sound of surf came to him along with a whiff of salty air.

His magic flickered and he gasped. When had he grabbed the power? The pulsing ebb and flow of the water seemed to pulse along with his own magic. The two reverberated off each other, back and forth. The power inside of him built, the waves crashed about him. He blinked, the whites of his eyes showing. All his pain sealed to be draining away with the sea, flowing away, and he just wanted to--

"Wolfram!"

Wolfram gasped and the plate clattered to the floor. He gaped at his older brother like a fish before his eyes rolled up and he sank into unconsciousness.  
---8---8---

He was swimming in warm water, more at peace then he'd ever been. He could hear people talking about him, but their voices didn't carry through the water and he was content to leave it at that. He would've stayed there forever and been content with his lot, but he was becoming more aware of the pounding in his head. Each throb sent him further away from the welcoming darkness he'd been wrapped in, and it made him want to cry.

'Please don't make me go back,' he thought into the darkness.

He fought with every scrap of his being. It wasn't enough. Nothing seemed to be enough. And suddenly he woke.  
He groaned. His head hurt even worse that it hand and he buried his head deeper under the blankets. He wanted to cry but couldn't.

"You're awake!" Yuuri's muffled voice came through the fortress of blankets. He tried to pry the blankets away from Wolfram, but the blond hissed and swatted at his hands.

"My head," he moaned weakly.

The bed sank as Yuuri leaned down to get to him. Cool hands touched his cheeks first, traveling by feel to his nose, up the arch, and to his head. A strange windless breeze seemed to float about him, carrying with it the scent of rain and everything fresh. The pain lessened and pulled away from edges of his mind before lifting altogether. It made him feel tired and fuzzy.

He cracked an eye open and pushed his head free of the blankets. "Yuuri," he said with a sigh. A worried expression played over the young King's face. He thought, 'what a handsome man he is.'

A slow, slithering longing filled him. It creeped in as he lay still under the blankets. It was so powerful that it took his breath away. He closed his eyes tight and tried to push it out. He failed. Every time he tried to examine it, to push it away, it slipped away. It was as if he'd... forgotten something.

"Are you still hurt?" Yuuri's voice broke through his train of thoughts. Wolfram batted away the hands as Yuuri tried to smooth his hands across his brow.

"I'm fine," he muttered pensively. He pushed himself up and rubbed his face with a hand. God, what was this? Had he felt it before? He couldn't imagine a time when he hadn't, but he couldn't remember any time before then that he had.  
It was coming back to him piecemeal. He felt Yuuri's cool hands again on his head but he ignored him, ignored the cooling feel of his energy washing over him. He remembered the box falling down and throwing the box. He grimaced at the effort. Then... he stormed into the room because... because?

But what room? He couldn't remember.

Yuuri sat on the edge of their bed, studying him. "I should get Gisela," he murmured, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Are you alright? Wolfram... What were you doing in that storage room?"

Wolfram noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the frown that ruined his handsome face. He looked as if he might fall asleep at any moment. 'Yuuri...' For some reason, he wanted to hug the King. He looked so fragile and hurt. Then he focused on what Yuuri had said. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

The series of events flashed through his mind in rapid action, whole and complete, and vanished from his mind like a dream. It lingered at the edges of his mind, a foreign taste he couldn't get out of his mind, and was gone.

"I don't remember."

What HAD he been doing? He vaguely remembered trying to remember something, but even that seemed far away and long ago. He swayed in the bed, wondering if he was going to be sick, when the sudden headache made his vision go black. Yuuri's arm's tightened about him and he leaned into his warm embrace. The pounding in his head lessened with the touch.

"I honestly don't know. I thought I did, but not anymore."

"You're lucky Conrad knows you always go down there." Yuuri's hands tightened on his shoulders. "He says you go down there when you're angry. What happened? Was it Lady Jolene? I know you couldn't have expected me to leave her in the mud."

Lady Jolene? Wolfram tilted his head back to regard him.

"Lady Jolene? Who's Lady Jolene?" And then in confusion, "What room? I don't remember being angry. I don't have any special place I go to when I'm angry." He wondered if that were true. It didn't feel true to him, but as he tried to remember, the headache started to flare up. Even Yuuri's presence couldn't stifle it this time.

"Conrad found you in the back storeroom." At the blank look, he added, "you know the row of storerooms the magical items are kept in?"

Wolfram nodded.

"It's in a small hallway off that main one, way in the back. It doesn't look like anyone has added anything new in a long time. The door looks about ready to fall off."

Wolfram remembered the main hallway. He'd played down there with a big yellow ball. It had been his favorite haunt, most because... Memories swam just out of his grasp. The sudden recollection made his head spin. He pressed his eyes shut. "I've never been down there," he said after a long moment, "I don't remember even going down the hallway."  
He broke away from Yuuri and lay down, pulling the covers around him. The headache came back, but he could deal with that if Yuuri would just leave.  
"But Conrad said you've been going down there since you were young. Six or seven, maybe younger," Yuuri pressed.  
'Go away! Go away! Go away!'

Yuuri sighed and the bed leveled as he got to his feet. "Well, can you tell me anything? Anything at all? I'll let you sleep if you do."

Wolfram faked a large yawn and snuggled into the blankets. The sadness filled him again. He hadn't realized Yuuri had taken that away along with the headache. It overwhelmed him and he felt pricks of tears form in the corners of his eyes against his will.

"I remember..." He knew what he wanted now. He could remember that. A cool ocean breeze stirred over him, filling him with the scent of the sea and the peace of crashing waves on the shore. If he tried hard enough, maybe he'd hear the cawing of seagulls overhead. "I remember the ocean."

He slipped into a restless sleep after that and didn't hear when Yuuri left. He woke once to hear several people talking in hushed voices, but he fell asleep soon after that. The next time he woke, it was dark and Yuuri was sleeping next to him, soundless, his dark hair falling over his face. He pushed the hair out of his face, thinking how young he looked, and fell asleep again.

---8---8---

To Be Continued...

I love reviews like the next author. Feel free to leave constructive crit as well, if the need takes you. A side note: I name all my OC females as Jolene cause I'm lazy. If they're in other fics of mine, they aren't the same. It's a nod to the song 'Jolene'.


	2. Chapter 2

Long Nights

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own KKM or the chara's D:

Beta: pyrrhicvictoly (yay! I have a beta)

Notes: this is just a plain old Yuuram. :) I hope you like it.

Wolfram folded one leg under him and bent the other, hugging it close to his chest. He sat in an overly plush chair in front of the library fire. It was hard NOT to think this was some kind of inquisition, regardless of the hot mug Conrad had given him and the gentle assurances from his fianc . His brothers, Yuuri, and Murata were all hovering over him. While they hadn't turned to face him, they might as well have. He could imagine their steely gazes on his face.

The worst thing was that he wanted to touch it, run his fingers over its pebbled surface. He was certain he'd never seen it before, but the desire was choking. He'd reached out for it, but Murata had kept it away, placing it on the table and eyeing him warily. Murata was the worst of the four, his eyes sharper, more knowing. It was as if he were just waiting for Wolfram to screw up.

Conrad took the plate from Murata and placed it on the small table before them. Wolfram could've jumped out of his skin. It called to him. It was a plain, unadorned plate. It was quite an ugly, misshapen plate at that, but it called to the pain in his heart. He didn't understand why the depression that had wound in his heart since he first woke up called to this thing.

He was both drawn and repulsed.

"Do you remember this?" his brother asked gently.

He would've grabbed it, but Murata was too fast. He made it seem like he was merely interested in it, turning it end over end, but Wolfram knew better. He shook himself and smiled apologetically at Wolfram before placing it on the fireplace mantle, again as if he didn't know he was depriving Wolfram of it.

Anger flared in him and he sat back in the plush chair. "I don't know," he said petulantly, "I've never seen it."

His fingers itched to run over the surface. Was it glazed? He thought so. It would be smooth and cool under his touch. He ran his fingers over the arm of the chair.

"Try to remember, Wolfram," Gwendal said, turning around to face him. "You were holding it when you collapsed. You must remember something! This is important! We don't know what that... that thing is! I've looked through all the records and--"

A look from Conrad shut Gwendal up. Yuuri had placed his fingers on the back of Wolfram's head, kneading softly. He turned his head up to look at the King. It didn't seem as if he heard Gwendal, either. His brows were pulled together in thought, but he said nothing.

"Please, Wolfram. Do you truly remember nothing?" Conrad this time. This was becoming too much for him! What did they want from him? He glared at his brother. And why did Conrad care so much anyway? It was foolish. With him gone, he could make a move on Yuuri. If they'd just LET him have the plate, let him finish what had to be done!

Wolfram pushed the anger down. It seemed like the only one of his feelings he could control. The heavy feeling of sadness hit him again, washed over him like a tidal wave. It was getting worse, day by day and hour by hour. He had no more handle on it than when he woke. Moreover, he felt weaker than he had before.

And everyone was treating him like he had some incurable disease. The anger threatened to bubble up again. He set his jaw and moved away from Yuuri's kneading hands.

"I don't remember anything," he hissed, shooting to his feet. The image of his anger was ruined by his stumbling. He loathed the steadying hand Yuuri extended to him. God, how much more embarrassment did he have to suffer?

"You mentioned the ocean," Yuuri reminded, helping him back down into the chair. "I know this is hard, but Murata thinks it's necessary to see how far your amnesia goes." He sounded so concerned and worried. Wolfram had never heard that tone directed at him before.

A furious blush stained his cheeks. This was the worst thing of all. He knew the King was genuinely worried for him, but it wasn't the kind of worry he wanted. He didn't want the same general level of worry and kindness he heaped on others. He wanted a special kind of worry, like the kind Yuuri afforded Conrad. Or like what a proper fiance was supposed to get.

He let the thought trail off. His headache was back again, pounding harder than ever. It never truly let up, but sometimes it wasn't so bad. He pressed a hand to his forehead. When had he allowed himself to get so weak? Was it really the plate? "I don't remember. I honestly don't," and he was ashamed at how weak and wobbly his voice had become.

He glanced at it from the corner of his eye. The light caught on its reflective surface. Wait. Hadn't it been unglazed? He tried to think.

Wolfram rose to his feet again, the blood pounding in his temples. He couldn't tear his gaze away from it, and from somewhere he knew that was bad. Really bad. "I'm tired," he muttered, fighting his entire being to grab the plate again. His fingers itched for it.

He wanted to reach out and touch it, but saw Murata's sharp glace and knew he'd be stopped before he could even try. Maybe there would be no second chance after that. He couldn't allow the possibility.

Yuuri reached out for him, an arm going around his waist. Before he could think, Wolfram had leaned into him, accepting the offer.

"Let me help you to the bedroom," he said into Wolfram's ear.

Wolfram could feel everyone's gazes burn into his back. He shrugged off Yuuri's arm and pretended he didn't' see the hurt look. "They need you here to figure out that... thing," he said by way of apology.

--- --- ---

After long week of recovery, Wolfram felt well enough to wander about the castle without an escort. Gisela had agreed, and the perpetually bored servant who'd shadowed him had been dispatched. Thank the Gods. He didn't hate the woman, but her looming and insistence on helping him with everything was driving him to contemplate murder.

His magic had come back to him. That was perhaps the greatest gain. He noticed his powers faltering several days after the meeting with his brothers and Yuuri. Even though the days were turning longer, he'd been cold and Yuuri hadn't yet come to the bedroom. He'd tried to call up fire to light the hearth but had gotten nothing.

That work had been enough to keep his mind busy and the creeping depression at bay. He forced himself to practice the various magical techniques until he was sweating and trembling from the effort. And it worked. His first taste of the power was delicious but fleeting. He succeeded twice more that day, and even more the following. By the end of the week, he was succeeding 75 percent of the time, and it felt wonderful.

He'd rushed into Yuuri's study to tell him the good news. Yuuri and Murata had their heads together, going over various reports of a band of robbers south of the capital. He'd heard his brother grumbling about it.

"My magic is back!"

Yuuri looked surprised to see him, and more so at the announcement. "You didn't tell me there was anything wrong."

Wolfram waved that away and beamed at them.

"Your magic was gone?" Murata had stood up and moved halfway around the desk. "How, ah I mean, when did it leave you?"

Wolfram shot him a look. "Does it matter? And I'm not certain when it left. I realized," he paused to think. His thoughts were still muzzy, but a little concentration usually cleared things up. "Five days ago?"

Murata looked troubled, but Yuuri at least tried to hide it.

That was another thing. Yuuri was being very attentive to him. He knew it was just concern for his health, such as he would worry about Murata or Gwendal, but it was still nice. Conrad had informed him that he'd stay by his side, day and night, while he was unconscious.

The thought made him smile.

Wolfram went through the double doors and down the balcony stairs. The morning was warm, though it still held the tang of winter. Sun filtered through budding tree branches, and a soft wind blew, rustling the scrubs. The ever present sadness was there, curled around his soul, but he refused to let it in. He couldn't push it away, so he opted to try to ignore it.

Yuuri would be somewhere outside at this hour. He had an ungodly work ethic when it came to exercise. Wolfram pursed his lips in thought. No, Yuuri would probably be done with his run and sword exercises. The sun was a hand up in the sky.

He decided to wander around on the off chance of meeting his King. He was stopped constantly by well wishers and those asking after his health. It seemed like everyone had seen him leave and was trying to greet him.

"I'm glad that you're okay," Gawin said, clasping Wolfram's hand tightly inside his own.

He forced a smile on his face and pulled his hand back. Sir Gawin was a young Knight from the southern von Grantz region. He was fair looking with brown hair that fell about his face, soft brown eyes, and a warm smile. He'd risen far in the ranks; hardworking and never complaining about the dirty work, most of his soldiers would follow him to their deaths.

"Thank you," Wolfram said. He put his hand behind his back and tried to discreetly wipe his sweaty palm. "Have you seen Yuu -- I mean, Heika -- this morning?"

Gawin pondered this for a moment. "I think I saw him walking with Lady Jolene in the east gardens," he said.

"Lady Jolene?" He tilted his head in thought. The name rang a note of familiarity but he couldn't place it. And then he thought, what is Yuuri doing with a woman? Images of a romantic walk down the garden lanes were too much for him.

Wolfram thanked him and left with a growing sense of unease. The east gardens were the newest set built by his mother on the eastern slope of the mount. Large and expansive, they were the most beautiful gardens in the capital and, some argued, the whole kingdom. His mother had ordered soldiers to collect seeds and live plants from all corners of the kingdom. As a result, they were the most diverse in the country and usually in bloom all four seasons.

What was Yuuri doing with some unknown woman? He didn't like it.

Wolfram stopped by a large apple tree and unclenched his fists. He would NOT storm in there like a banshee. He would be mature about this. Yuuri wouldn't do something with another woman. He trusted Yuuri. He started moving despite himself, and found himself still angry.

He would not be angry. There was nothing to worry about. There was--

He stopped at the sight of Yuuri kissing a woman, presumably Lady Jolene. Her back was to him, the back of her dress cut to show a generous expanse of smooth skin. Her hands cupped Yuuri's face, and she was pressing herself against him. He could tell from here that she was beautiful, all curves and long hair. Yuuri stood stock still, hands outstretched away from the Lady. He could see the startled look on his face.

Wolfram didn't know if it was because Yuuri had seen him, or because of the kiss. He imagined it was because he'd popped up. At least the cheater's arms weren't around the woman. It was little comfort.

Yuuri pulled her off him and set her aside, breathing heavily.

Wolfram felt numb. "You cheating bastard," he said softly.

It must've carried to Yuuri because he turned around, dazed, until their eyes met. Why, he couldn't see. He blinked furiously to clear his eyes, stumbling back as he turned to run. He brushed the tears away with the back of his sleeve and didn't stop running until he'd gotten back to his bed chambers.

No, not his, he thought bitterly. They belonged to the King.

He pushed open the doors to their room -- Heika's room. He was thankful that the run had dried the few tears and none seemed to be forthcoming. He leaned against the door, chest heaving. He wiped the fine sheen of sweat that covered his upper lip. He wanted to sleep more than ever, to crawl under the covers and sink into the wonderful oblivion.

But he couldn't. Yuuri -- no, Heika! He would have to remember to be less... well, everything. He knew the King would have some logical excuse for it. He'd say something to the effect that she'd been the one to press herself against him. And poor him, why didn't Wolfram think about him?

The weighty darkness seemed to bloom with every breath. It clawed at him, pressed in at all angles.

"Stop it," he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Leave me alone!"

He straightened and pushed himself off the door. He had to get away from Yuuri and this horrible feeling in him. At the moment, they were one and the same. He left the room and walked down the hallway.

Despite what he'd told Yuuri, he had a room of his own. It was still in use and housed the overflow of his personal things, the bulk of his cloths, his various childhood effects and painting supplies. The maids still cleaned the room once a week and washed all the linen once a month.

He didn't see anyone as he came to his room. He'd half expected Yuuri to come rushing towards him, and felt a worse sense of betrayal because of it. His hand touched the brass doorknob.

This felt wrong. Coming to his own room was the wrong idea. It would only afford him temporary relief. In a couple of hours -- dinner at the latest -- he'd have to face Yuuri again.

'Yuuri! It's not Yuuri! It's Heika!' He wished he didn't know Yuuri. Surely, Yuuri was the source of all this.

A flicker of remembrance. His hand dropped to his side as he willed himself to remember. It was at the tip of his tongue. Blue-ish and round and...

He remembered the ocean and crashing waves. He remembered the stillness within its tight embrace. Oh, the peace he'd found there, so encompassing and warm and welcoming. More so than anything he'd ever felt. It protected him from these horrible feelings. It made him whole.

How could he have forgotten such a gift?

He realized he hadn't. It had been waiting there this whole week, like a patient parent waiting for its child to see the error of his ways. And now that he thought on that, he knew where it was. In Yuuri's private office, locked in a desk drawer.

He couldn't welcome its warm embrace in Yuuri's office, however. He'd have to get it to his room. He went inside and rummaged around for a pile of loose clothing and a small blanket. 'Let them think I'm moving out.' Yuuri's lecherous act would have made it throughout the castle by now.

Wolfram's trip down two hallways and up the back stairway was short. He didn't pass any of the servants on the way up.

He looked to his left and right before slipping inside. Yuuri wasn't in and he cursed himself for not thinking of that possibility. He shut the door behind him and walked over to the large mahogany desk. He ran his fingers over the smooth desk surface. It smelled like him, spicy and with that weird earth soap. He wanted to sit in the chair and bask, but then he remembered Yuuri saying how Shin Makoku shampoo had gotten them engaged in the first place, and he was angry all over again.

He tested the bottom drawer. He could feel it pulsing with power. It called to him, a sickly sweet promise that he couldn't ignore. He would give his life to hear that song.

The drawer was locked. "Fuck," he muttered. It was more of an annoyance than setback. He rummaged through the other drawers until he found a thin knife. The lock was ultra simple and it took him under a minute to open the drawer.

His hand snaked out and he almost touched it. It wanted him to touch it, but he couldn't. Not here where he'd be discovered too soon. He shook the loose clothes from the blanket and wrapped the plate in it. He stooped to pick up the littered cloth to look like he was just carrying a large bundle.

He hurried from the office, pausing only to shut the door behind him quietly. He met several servants, but when they saw him in the halls, it seemed they discovered how much more interesting the carpets were. Their behavior towards him -- he was still the fiance damn it! and that should mean SOMETHING! -- infuriated him.

He locked his door behind him and slumped to the floor, cradling the plate to his chest. It seemed to pulse louder than ever.

He set the plate between his legs and stared at it, images of Yuuri and that whore together filling his mind. 'Yuuri would never kiss me,' he thought. He could see them kissing, see Yuuri's arms tight about the woman's middle, cradling her face, undoing the lace ribbons of her dress. Now he was kissing her and looking at him, a horrible sneer on his face.

He tried to push these images away but they wouldn't go. There were just the images of Yuuri fucking a woman, the horrible darkness that threatened his sanity, and the promise of peace coming from the plate.

He knew what would happen to him, sooner or later. Yuuri would marry that... that WOMAN and cast him out like a leper. Yuuri would refuse to even think of him, of all the time they'd spent together. He'd always be that disgusting memory Yuuri could never get away from. Wolfram knew that would break him. He'd never recover from it. Losing Yuuri the first time had been hard, but hadn't been a breakup. A part of him knew Yuuri would return to him.

He uncovered the plate absently.

'No,' a small part of him whispered. 'Please don't ... I don't want this.'

"I have to get away before that happens," he murmured, leaning down to pick it up.

'No...'

He stared at his reflection in the glazed surface, his eyes locking with the other Wolfram, before he slipped into that welcoming darkness.

---8---8---

"Wolfram! Oh my god!" A slap against his cheek. Another slap. "Wake up!" Someone shook him.

Wolfram floated in a wonderful dream. All about him was the sea; he was part of it, and yet still himself. The Wolfram part of himself was farther away from his connected, expansive self, but the insistent voice broke through into this wonderful place and all at once, he was whole again.

He grimaced and tried to move away but found himself sluggish, as if he hadn't moved in centuries.

Oh God! This place was horrible. Everything seemed to constrict him, hurt his head and body and soul and no! He didn't want to be here again! Oh please, don't make him stay. He wanted to yell at whoever was hovering about him, but only a croak came from his voice. That small sound grated on his ears. 'Let me die,' he whimpered.

Another stinging slap was delivered to his cheek. "Wake up! Open your eyes! I know you hear me!"

Wolfram fought to open his eyes. His heart beat wildly in his chest and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. The light was bright and it hurt his eyes. Everything seemed Great in the room, all full of sharp angles and odd, terrible things. How did he get from the wonderful haven to this grotesque place?

"Wolf!"

He shifted his eyes and looked into tear filled dark eyes. He wore such an expression of grief that it stilled his own horror. For several long moments, those eyes became his world. They captivated him.

"Thank god! I thought..." The man's expression tightened as he gathered Wolfram up in his arms. He was sweating, Wolfram thought with amazement. And his chest was heaving. He took a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow.

There was something he'd forgotten. He tried to remember, but he couldn't. He felt those dark eyes on him again, so relieved now.

"What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" A note of doubt crept into his beautiful voice.

Wolfram sucked in his bottom lip. "I ..." his voice felt weird and horrible, so at odds with the wonderful notes of the stranger. "I don't know you, do I?"

The look of horror that passed over the stranger's face was too much for him. He could see the recrimination in those wonderful eyes. The grief and pain was bad enough, but... somewhere inside him, he knew he never wanted to hurt this man. A strange protectiveness bubbled up from the depths. He wanted to hold him, but was too weak to lift his arms.

A wave of exhaustion rolled over him. His eyelids were suddenly too heavy to keep up. 'No,' he moaned. 'Don't make me sleep now. I've got... to explain...' He sank into the darkness of sleep.

TBC!

I've replaced the old chapter 1 with a beta'ed version (or will try in a moment.) No new content however. I hope you like it. :D


	3. Chapter 3

Long Nights

Disclaimer: I don't own KKM or the chara's D:

Notes: this is just a plain old Yuuram. :) I hope you like it.

This is unbeta'ed. I'm sorry.

Chapter 3

Shibuya sat rigid in the straight backed chair. His arms straight and fists balled on his knees, head tilted down as he kept his gaze on Wolfram's sleeping form. The only conscious movement he made was the curious twitching in his jaw.

Murata studied his friend for a long time, his arms crossed over his chest. He'd never seen Shibuya this angry and silence, seething under the surface. He'd known him for a long time, seen the rash flare of his anger that brought the Maoh out in the early days. It had been long since that part of him had been intergraded into his psyche.

Wolfram hadn't stirred in a week, not even to eat. They'd had to put diapers on him to keep him from ruining the fine linen Shibuya insisted he sleep on. Each day seemed to make him more and more irritable. He'd stopped doing all his duties, stopped exercising in the mornings, and he'd bodily thrown von Christo out when he suggested the King might like to take some time away from Wolfram.

Shibuya had insisted Wolfram woke, at least one time, and that he'd be here for him when he did so again. That was the main reason Murata had hesitated in his plan to wisk the blond away. But as the days went by with no visible sign of recovery, he felt the King might be more willing to hear him out. He was unsure of how to broach the subject, however. How to tell someone you want to steal away their fiance from them because you think said fiance is killing them?

He hesitated for a moment then clasped Shibuya's shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said, trying to feel like he meant it. "He'll be okay." He glanced over him to the sleeping man on the bed. Wolfram was wearing Shibuya's silk pajama's, one arm raised over his head and gently snoring.

Shibuya didn't move for several long moments before he turned to Murata. He repressed a sigh. He understood grieving people but ... Well, maybe it was just his own anxiety coming out. He did think of the fiery blond as his friend. It had been a tough decision not to tell Shibuya about the properties of the plate. One never got used to gambling the lives of people, much less friends.

"He doesn't REMEMBER me!" Shibuya bit off and looked away, his face a furious splotch of red. His lips thinned as he stared down at the bed. "He would ... He would rather forget me, forget us then let me explain!"

Murata had heard the blow by blow in the city, where he'd gone to clear his mind from the current issues. There'd been the woman's frantic escort getting her things together as she was all but bodily thrown out of the castle. That would raise more issues. Lady Jolene wasn't an ordinary noble. Rather, she carried the seat of power of her kingdome in her blood. Whoever she married would become the next King in Lintzberg. Maybe dealing with that would take his mind off Wolfram.

He did let himself sigh then. Shibuya was probably wracked with guilt and he'd done nothing, said nothing, to help alivate that guilt. Maybe he was the bastard everyone thought of him as. He pushed a hand through his hair. Those were stupid thoughts, thoughts he rarily gave himself time to consider, and they wouldn't keep Wolfram alive.

"It would've happened sooner or later, Yuuri. It was just a matter of time." He looked away from the way Shibuya had stilled. "I guess I'm a little surprised he held out as long as he did."

Shibuya studied him with intense curiosity. A look of incredibility came over him, like a veil had been lifted from his face. "You knew this was going to happen?"

Murata winced before he could stop himself but met the glare with a strong look of his long. "Yes, I knew it would."

He was his feet, fist balled and up raised. "How could you?" he hissed.

Murata looked at the balled fists meaningfully and back up to his face. Shibuya blushed, though the hard, distrustful look didn't leave his face. "Look at him, Murata! He might die!"

Murata turned to the small fire in the hearth, not liking the raw emotion in his face. After all these lives, Love was still unnerving. It was a great tool for manipulation but it stirred some unease in him. He supposed it was because he could never truly be open with another person. It was the nature of his profession to keep as much of himself secret from his enemy. Some habits died hard (or didn't at all.)

"He won't die."

"How do you know that?" Shibuya whirled him around to face the bed. "Look at him, Murata. He's been asleep for a week and we have to pump him up with so much magic just to keep him asleep."

"If it was going to kill him, he would be dead already." He put a hand on his upper arm and guided him back to the chair he'd recently vacated. "Sit."

Silence filled the space between them. Shibuya's brow furrowed in thought, his gaze only softening as he watched the other man's sleeping breath. "So there was a chance for him to die then? You knew this and let me put it in a place he could get his hands on it."

His cold voice whipped out at Murata. Instead of answering directly, he said, "that plate is ... was very old and very clever. It wasn't conscious as we are, but it was always hungry and waiting for a victim. Once it got its hold into Wolfram, there was nothing we could do. I don't think he meant to touch it the first time, but it has ways of cajoling people."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Murata smiled at his attempt to keep his voice level. "We could've done something else." A long pause. "He doesn't remember me."

"It could be worse," Murata said, one arched brow when Shibuya turned angrily to him. 'He could've died. He could be curled in a ball, bawling and howling for you to kill him. He could be hating the sight of you.' He didn't say that. It was hard to keep the biting response back. The need to fling accusations out at the King was strong. It was HIS fault, not Murata's. If only he hadn't been such a prude in the first place.

Shibuya looked all of a man defeated. His angry expression dropped as his face fell on his fiance. Even he couldn't hold that anger in for long.

Feeling pity on the stricken look, Murata added, "Yuuri, there wasn't anything you could do. It had its hold on him. If I'd told you, you would've sent the plate away or locked him away or broken it -- though I can't imagine the amount of power that would've needed." He sat at the edge of the bed and face his friend. "If you'd done any of that, he would've fallen into a deep depression and probably killed himself. If he didn't, he'd only be a shell of his former self. This way, he had at least a chance of coming back to his former self."

"You can say that in such a calm tone, Murata," he said bitterly. "How else knew about this? Or did you decide his fate on your own?"

Shinou save him, he wanted to punch him. It always came to this in the end. The distrust, the anger; it was always his fault, though he'd done his best to prevent it and stuck by his side to help clean up the mess. He'd seen that look of distrust so many faces through out his many life's. It didn't make it any easier to take. "Lord Weller and Lord von Voltaire."

Anger made Shibuya's cheeks flush red anew. He rose and stalked away from him. "And what about me?" He whirled. "Am I now just a baby to be kept in swaddling blankets, away from anything that might possibly hurt me?"

"Maybe if you stopped acting like a petulant child, I wouldn't have to," Murata snapped. He took a breath break and reigned his annoyance in. Only idiots allowed their anger to carry them away. He wasn't an idiot, though somedays he wondered the truth of that. "You couldn't know about this," he said far more gently.

"Why is that? Please do enlighten me, oh Great Sage," Shibuya snarked.

"Because you love him and --" Murata sighed and leaned against the armor. "Honestly, Yuuri, would you have let him try this?"

Shibuya goggled at him, his mouth opening and shutting comically. He seemed to shake himself out of it but wasn't all there when he said, "Of course. If that was the only option left."

"Exactly," Murata said, a small smile curving one corner of his mouth. Shibuya stiffen at that but he didn't care. He wanted out of this hot room and away from the young King. His eyes lingered on the sleeping man. Wolfram was so gorgeous it hurt. Perhaps he was the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen. "You would've killed him. The longer you waited and searched for an answer, the less chance he had to survive it. And, on the off chance that he DID survive, the damage of living with that kind of trauma would've broken him."

Shibuya's fists were clenched and unclenched but now he was studying him speculatively.

Wolfram sighed, wrinkled his nose, and twisted away from them, kicking off the blankets and exposing a nice strip of smooth back. His back bones and ribs protruded like grotesque monuments to his slumber. Seeing that made him grimace. It probably wasn't the best time to bring this up, but Murata didn't have the patience -- and he suspected Wolfram didn't have the time -- for Shibuya to get his head out of his ass.

He rose from the bed and walked to the high arching windows that looked down onto gardens as he said, "Anyway, I'll be accompanying him to a southern farm. It's more of a resort for the rich than farm, but it'll serve it's purpose."

"No." Murata turned to find Shibuya tenderly tucking Wolfram back in. "You expect me to let him go off to somewhere only Gods knows? For what reason? I suppose you have another cryptic reason you can't tell me?"

"It's real simple. Wolfram is dying. He used that ... thing here and its magic is still here because he's still here. He just needs a couple weeks, maybe a month, to draw away from its grasp completely. He can't survive in a coma, not in this world." He paused then added, "do you want to kill him?"

Shibuya looked as if he would disagree. He crossed his arms over his chest and took up a position as if he expected Murata to snatch Wolfram right there. He could've laughed at the mental image that created. "But ... he woke up!"

Murata cocked a brow but didn't argue. He'd already pressed the King more than he should've. "You're stressed," he said, talking a couple steps closer. "You have a lot of work to catch up on and --"

"You're not talking him away."

Murata studied him for several long moments. "It's not your decision. As he's ... incapacitated and Lady Cheri is off on a trip with Gretta, he falls into the care of Lord von Voltaire." He squeezed Shibuya's shoulder again. "It'll be okay. He'll wake after we get him away from the castle and be good as new sooner than you think."

---8---8---

Murata had hoped, rather in vein, that the process of getting Wolfram out of Blood Pledge wouldn't be a painful one. That evening he took dinner with the family as he was want to do and Shibuya had appeared. He hadn't said anything to indicate his disapproval; rather, he'd spent the evening brooding over what foul things mashed potato's are.

After dinner, he sat with von Voltaire and Weller to go over the prespective treatment of Wolfram. The upper most interest was why he was going and not anyone else. Lord Weller looked upon it with some amusement and ready agreement but he wasn't surprised to find that Jozek had been sent out the day before when Murata had first brought it up. von Voltaire seemed to think loading him up on work would keep itchy fingers off his brother.

"I've prepared some things you might want to look over while you have the time," Lord von Voltaire said. He handed over a heavy leather briefcase of dark black.

Murata grunted when he grabbed the gold handle. It weighed a ton. "What's in this thing?"

He was also pleasantly surprised to find that the Brothers had procured a nurse maid for Wolfram. She would meet them at the farm. Wolfram would need constant supervision and help with the daily choirs of life. It was a little disappointing that they couldn't have found one in Blood Pledge but he decided not to press the matter.

It was settled. They would leave just after breakfast.

Breakfast passed quickly, his mind going over and over the list of things he needed. He didn't actually want to accompany Wolfram, but he knew the fiery blond had never formed an opinion of him one way or another. That would be his greatest lever in helping him. It would also be nice to get out of Shibuya's sight for a little while. Let him cool down and think things through logically. He needed uninterrupted time to work on the problem down south as well (though now the heavy tome of paperwork von Voltaire had given him made that seem more like a dream.)

He walked ahead of the servant who carried Wolfram down. He looked into the clear blue sky. The sun was already a hand and a half above the horizon. It wouldn't be too warm but a carriage ride would be stuffy.

Murata's eyes cut to the sleeping Prince. The servant, rather a soldier he realized now, laid him down with much tenderness by the solitary tree that grew in the carriage yard.

"I'll tell them you're ready."

They should've left earlier. He realized he was tugging down his shirt and forced himself to stop. Carriages weren't his favorite means of transportation. There was something about being hurled down a ravine in a burning carriage that made you a little nervous. He'd died more than once within the cage of a carriage. Horses had spooked. Two carriages had turned head over ass and crushed him to death. He'd been thrown roughly against the door and flung out to his death.

"Geika," Weller said, coming up behind him. His smile was cheerful, though he couldn't keep the look of worry off his face.

Murata blinked and pulled himself back. He returned the smile.

Men labored behind them, bringing down suitcases and various luggage. They grunted and groaned under the strain. What all had Weller and von Voltaire thought to pack for Wolfram? He recognized two small suitcases among the mirad shapes.

Weller handed him a sealed parchment envelope. "This is for the master of the Farm. Lord von Voltaire and I both think it's best if you didn't carry a substantial amount of coin with you." His hand tightened on the letter. "Please take care of him."

He nodded and was going to reply when the soldier came out of the darkened interior and hurried over to them. Shibuya came up behind them at that time as well. Murata thought he looked rather smug.

Weller greeted the King with a bow, sent a last look to his brother, and left. The King paid no mind to Murata. He walked over to Wolfram and sat next to him, picking up the limp hand and threading their fingers together. Any other time, he might have thought it sweet.

He turned his attention to the man who stood radiating anxiety in front of him.

"Ah, my Lord," the man swallowed. Murata tried to place his face but couldn't. He was losing his touch, he thought. "It would seem as if all the working carriages are ... out."

Murata stared at the King. Well, all things considering, this wasn't so bad. He'd thought of this one out. How much harder would it have been if Shibuya had decided to dress as a soldier and come along? It wasn't as if he could send him back alone. They would have to turn back. A weight lifted off his chest. He'd been expecting more. Maybe Shibuya really was out of his mind with grief.

"I see," he said to the soldier while still looking at Shibuya. "There is a carriage in there I reserved." The man opened his mouth to protest, looking even more horrified. He felt Shibuya's wondering gaze on his face. It would be a pleasure to teach him how to be more devious. "There's a carriage in there without two wheels off? I believe it's out of commission for the time being? Yes, tell the men to put the wheels back on and hitch it up."

Shibuya scowled at him. He set the hand carefully on Wolfram's rising chest and stood up, brushing dirt off the seat of his pants. "It looks like you thought of everything."

"Quite," Murata agreed with a smile.

Shibuya fidgeted beside him. He straightened his jacket, studied Wolfram for several long moments, before turning his attention to the carriage house. "I don't like this, Muraken," he said. He worked out a small stone with the toe of his shoes. "I just feel he needs me."

Murata had to strain to hear that last bit. He sighed. Nothing like a thousand lifetimes to prove how dehumanizing Love was to people. He remembered serving as a servant under a King. The King had been fair and just until his beautiful wife has died of influenza. He'd come out of his grief and become one of the cruelest Kings in that Kingdom's history.

"I promise not to run off with Wolfram."

Shibuya looked at him surprised. "I'm not worried about that, Murata," he said. "It's not you. I just feel," he put an emphasis on feel, "that he needs to be with me. I don't think he can get better with out me. I'm the only one he's woken up for."

Murata suppressed the urge to remind him that Wolfram hadn't woken to any subsequent requests on his part. He let the moment pass. Silence feel between then as the completed carriage was pulled out. It wasn't the best of the carriages Blood Pledge had to offer nor did it bear any crests.

Wolfram shifted onto this side and curled up into a ball. They both watched the sleepy movement. Shibuya shrugged out of his black jacket and balled it up, making a pillow for him to rest on. Murata had to look away. It felt like he was an intruder, stealing these two lovers away from each other. He felt like crap.

"He'll be okay," Murata said, more for himself then Shibuya if he was honest. "The farm is only a week away by carriage, less by horseback. And the bandits haven't ..." He trailed off by the look he received from the King. He sighed again.

Shibuya ran a hand through his hair. His eyes softened when they dropped down the his sleeping form. "We're still engaged," he said.

Murata blinked and coughed, holding a hand to his mouth. He turned away, walking closer to the carriage and smell of leather and oil. He scuffed his shoes against the cobble stones and stuck his hands in his pockets and still had a hard time not laughing. He knelt, shoulders heaving.

Shibuya was by his side in a moment. "I don't mean it like that!" he scoffed, as if to say there was no way in this world that Wolfram could ever love him. Maybe he was right, Murata considered. "He doesn't remember me. Please tell him about me? At least tell him I wanted to be with him but couldn't."

Servants started to load the luggage on the carriage as the stable master led two stocky black horses. He watched the man start to hitch the team up to the carriage then turned to the luggage and found the brief case full of orders. He shoved that under his seat, almost tripping as he came down.

Shibuya's arm steadied him but when he turned to thank him, he'd already walked over to Wolfram, gathering him up in his arms.

"We won't really be far," Murata said again. Damn guilt. He blew a breath out between his teeth. Well, if he didn't feel bad, he'd be a cold blooded bastard, right?

He stepped aside as Shibuya carried Wolfram up into the carriage. Murata watched the stable master check all the straps on the horses a third time. The driver came out of the carriage house, pulling a large had on his head. He bowed to Murata and tucked a small bag under his own seat.

It took Shibuya five minutes to seat Wolfram in a position he felt was comfortable. Murata stared at the sky, his impatience growing. The sun was getting higher every moment they delayed. He climbed in behind Shibuya and found him slipping a silver ring onto Wolfram's limp finger.

"Just ..." Shibuya bit his bottom lip. "I don't know. Maybe it'll help him remember me?"

Murata reached outside to close the window. Shibuya caught his arm, fingers biting into him. "Please take care of him."

"I will." He gripped his arm back for a moment then let go.

The carriage was uncomfortable. Well, he hadn't expected otherwise. It took the driver two and a half hours to get out of the capital. The streets being almost constantly packed, the process was slow going. The sun was high over head when they finally cleared the city walls. They headed south along the highway that was the main road between the north and south. The road was well worn and maintained, as far as the villages cared to. A string of villages and small towns had grown up around the road, attracted by the easy trade that could be had. It meant they would be able to sleep in a bed each night, which was a boon to Murata.

Murata shifted on the seat, then remembered there was NO comfortable place to sit in this cage. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He wished now that he'd brought something to eat. It would be another hour before they made it to the first village.

He really hated carriages. He tried to take his mind off it by staring out the window.

Wolfram sighed in his sleep and shifted.

"This is uncomfortable for you too, huh?" Murata said dryly. He turned to regard the sleeping Prince and found watery green eyes staring at him. His breath caught in his throat. Of course he knew once they were away from the castle that Wolfram would wake up.

'It was just a guess,' part of his mind reminded him.

'An educated one!' The sinking feeling lifted a little off his chest. He hadn't realized how worried he'd been.

Murata leaned forward, "How are you feeling Wolfram?"

Those brilliant green eyes didn't leave his face. The delicate blond brows drew together and he could see Wolfram pulling back into himself. "Where is it?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. "The sea, the ..." He tried to raise himself but fell back.

Murata was out of his seat, arms out to keep him from tumbling off the cushioned seat. "Careful," he said.

Wolfram smelled fresh like the sun and flowers, his fine hair smooth against the skin of his arms. He was so small and fragile, unlike anything Murata had known in this lifetime. Was this what it felt like to hold him? How could Shibuya sleep with him night after night and resist him? Maybe he was straight.

Murata let all these thoughts wash over him. He knew it was better to get them out of his system then try to repress them. Repression only meant he might start listening to them, he might decide that he would be better for Wolfram. Instinctively, he knew he'd lose to Shibuya. There was no contest. The look in Wolfram's eyes when they alighted on the King was proof enough. He didn't believe such love could ever be erased. Pushed down temporarily, but not erased.

He felt the eyes studying him as he helped Wolfram back onto the seat. "There," he said and took his own seat.

"Your eyes," Wolfram started and paused, pressing his lips together. It seemed as if words were foreign for him and the process was overwhelming. "Your eyes are different," he said at last, a tremor running through him.

Murata opened his mouth but Wolfram yawned, his eyes blinking as if keeping them open was the hardest thing imaginable.

TBC~

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	4. Chapter 4

Long Nights

Chapter 4

notes: This is Yuuram, plain and simple. Words all in CAPS are the same as italics. I write using editpad so no italic button here. My beta went poof so this is unbeta'ed (I think this story killed her.) I'm sorry. I have the worst grammar and spelling skills ever. XD~

disclaimer: I don't own KKM or the characters.

The ride from Shin Makoku was slow but unimpeded by other travelers. Most were in the fields that lined to each side of the road, busy working crops for the coming planting season. Murata watched them for the first hour, bent over and digging into the rich soil. It made his back her, though, and he soon turned away. He didn't bother trying to read the missives von Voltaire had sent along with him. They were tucked firmly under the seat beside him but it made him feel tired just thinking about them.

He kept the opposite shade open so he could stare out the window, his back propped against the far wall of the carriage and legs spread out over the seat.

Wolfram slept peacefully enough for more of the rest of the day. He woke more and more, the farther they got from Shin Makoku. Murata would feel a curious itching between his eyes and turn to see Wolfram shifting, lifting his head, to get a better view of his face. Curiosity dealt with, he'd lay back down and stare off into the distance.

There was mild reproach in those watery green eyes and curiosity, but nothing else. He kept silent as well, making him wonder if he'd really spoken. The silent staring was beginning to wear him thin.

He felt the censure straight to his soul. It was as if the Prince could see everything hidden part of himself, every dark knock and cranny. What, he supposed, fascinated him the most was the lack of real emotion. Wolfram seemed frustrated a few times when he saw him, annoyed, hurt, but nothing really deep. That was a curious thing.

'Maybe he did wake up for Shibuya,' he thought. He chewed this over in his mind. It did seem like Wolfram woke expecting something, but maybe he was expecting an someone? The more he thought on it, the more it made sense. He didn't like it but he was willing to admit his own errors and adjust his plans.

The second night was the worst by far. It became routine that Wolfram didn't help him out if at all possible. Murata didn't think it was by chance that Wolfram fell asleep just as they pulled up into the inn yard.

The sun was low in the horizon, though not touching. He judged they had another hour of light before the sun set but he decided not to push the horses or driver and he didn't want to be caught out at night. Weller had thought of bringing along two "passengers" that rode on the top seats and he suspected the driver was also good with a sword. Still, he refused to risk it.

The driver, Andrew he learned later, decided to care for the horses himself and took a bed in the warm straw about the horses in the stable. Murata made a mental note to give him extra silver at the end of their journey. Horses had a fine way of getting lost, though it was perhaps not the wisest course to bring it up with the Inn master.

Vickter, one of the two guards that road about them, carried Wolfram into the Inn and up to their second floor room. He and Oscar had a room one door down from them and closer to the stairway.

"Put him by the window," Murata said, moving to the window. The room was small and clean but stuffy. He wondered if it ever got aired. The creaking and groaning from the window as he shoved at it was answer enough. Vickter set him on the bed and came over to help him jimmy it up.

"Will you be eating in your room, Geika?"

Murata turned to him. Vickter was a handsome man, with curling blond hair and bright blue eyes. His smile was always ready, regardless of the blood and murder he must've seen while in this line of work. That was a rare quality in a person. "Yes," he said, after a moment. "I'd best stay with him."

Vickter bowed. "And for ..." He looked at Wolfram pointedly.

"Ah." Wolfram hadn't eaten all day. The servants had tried to coax broth down his throat, messaging gently to get him to swallow, but not much had gone down. He'd been conveniently asleep during meal times with him as well. "Broth," Murata said. "As thick as they make him." He wished again for the faceless nurse. He'd get it down his throat if he had force it down.

After the door shut behind Vickter, he took care of his own needs. He peeled off the dusty jacket, relieved himself, then poured cool water into a basin and wiped himself down as much as possible. He changed into soft cotton pajama's, scoffing at himself for doing so. It would be foolish to be caught in pajama's if real trouble happened but he was too tired to worry too much about it.

He checked Wolfram over then. He'd been putting it off and was mildly surprised he hadn't wet himself. He leaned down over Wolfram and said, "Wakey, wakey. I'm sure you have to pee by now."

Wolfram's eyes snapped open, surprise and fear mixed with the constant sadness. His chest heaved as if he'd been pulled out of nightmare. Murata felt a pang of tenderness of him.

"Come on," he said, pulling him to a sitting position. "No! Stay away!" He tapped Wolfram's cheek several times until he opened his eyes and stared up at him with something that might be anger. "You're going to eat as well," he said helped him onto his feet. "Else I'm going to keep you up all night. Just you watch." He would and he'd enjoy it too.

He threw one of Wolfram's arms over his shoulder, using it as a lever to pull him to his feet. Wolfram leaned heavily against him but said nothing as they walked to the chamber pot.

"Good boy," Murata said, setting him back down on the bed. His lips quirked, the image of patting Wolfram's head coming to mind. He resisted the impulse.

He straightened, popping his back. The food hadn't come and his stomach grumbled painfully. They hadn't had much of a lunch this day. He tossed around the idea of going down himself. Obviously Vickter was being detained, maybe even eating himself. He looked down at Wolfram. Solemn green eyes regarded him silently.

No, he couldn't leave him here alone. Shinou only knew he'd climb out the window and fall to his death. How would he explain that?

He rummaged through a small pack he'd had carried in. He pulled out a pair of pajama's and tossed them on Wolfram. Shibuya's pajama's, black things made of the finest silk. "I don't suppose you can dress yourself?" He folded the ties back and didn't bother to turn for a response. Wolfram was still awake, which struck him as odd. He stared at him for a moment. "Hungry then, I take it? Or maybe I trick fear into you? I see the habit of beating spoiled princes did some good."

His lips twisted into a frown. He pushed his hand through his hair. He was stalling. Did the Great Sage stall on unimportant tasks like this? Why, oh why ... It took a force of will to stop himself from whining.

"You need to get dressed for night," he told the silent man. He turned and brought the basin and pitcher of water to Wolfram's bedside table. "I'm not going to hurt you."

During the whole, rotten business, Wolfram stared at him with mild curiosity. He didn't seem to mind being stripped to the waist, washed with a damp cloth, or getting dressed again. Well, he didn't help either. "Shouldn't made you take them off your pants at the chamber pot," he grumbled.

Dinner still hadn't come by the time he was tugging up the pajama bottoms. Reds and oranges spread out in all directions from where the sun kissed the horizon. Wolfram apparently decided the window curtains were more interesting now because he seemed to pay him not more heed. That would be a relief if he'd come to be old, boring sight for Wolfram.

His stomach growled. Where was food?

"Wolfram," he went around the other side of the bed, between Wolfram and his line of vision, when the blond didn't make any sign of hearing him. "I've got to... transfer energy into you. I have to touch your face," he explained, cupping his hands on his cheeks. It was easier with direct contact, though he could do it without physical touch if he had to. Wolfram didn't seem to notice his touch. He repressed the sigh and focused himself.

What he was doing wasn't healing, per say. He felt grateful at that. He wasn't particularly good at healing, though it's said to be the easiest of all the spells to learn. He was dumping his own energy into Wolfram in order to bring up his reserves.

Each Mazoku was born with a natural reserve of energy. There wasn't any spell, dangerous attack magic that could level cities or the strongest healing spells that could put severed limbs back with nary a scar, that could use up all of a Mazoku's energy. There was always a fail-safe catch that stopped the person from casting that spell when they'd been depleted about halfway their natural strength.

That isn't to say such spells are impossible. It's not uncommon for several Mazoku to work in tandem with the more powerful spells, but I digress.

There is natural exceptions to the rule and other outside influences (such as the plate) that can drain a Mazoku dry. However, once the magic is under the halfway point, they become unable to create and replenish their own reserves and they quickly cannibalize what is left in order to survive. Wolfram had most of his immense power eaten or stolen by that thing, whatever it was.

Wolfram's eyes widened, his mouth gapping open in horror as Murata let his energy trickle into him. He grabbed Murata's wrists, as if to pull him off. Murata pushed more into him, wishing to get this over with as soon as possible.

He could see the goose pimples raise on Wolfram's forearms. "Stop!" he gasped, tears filling his eyes. "Please stop!"

Murata let his hold on his magic slip. A momentary elation filled him before he frowned. "That couldn't have hurt. I was just letting it seep into you. I wasn't doing anything special with it." He paused. "I've been doing it day and night, and Shibuya before that. You've never let out a murmur or moan."

Wolfram trembled. He raised his green eyes in defiance to him and Murata thought he looked sick. He was only able hold their gaze for several moments before he bent double over on the bed. "It felt horrible," he cried. "A thousand bugs crawling under my skin." He passed a hand over his eyes. "I never want to feel that again."

Vickter chose that unfortunate moment to come in with their dinner tray. He started at the sight of Wolfram crying and Murata looming over him. Murata realized he couldn't look more guilty if his pants were around his ankles. "I knocked," Vickter said, edging the wooden tray onto the small table at the far wall of the room.

"Thank you, Vickter." Murata watched as the guard closed the door behind him. He wondered if the man would write immediately to Shibuya or would wait until they'd reached the Farm. Oh well. There would be no helping that now.

His belly grumbled. Roast beef smothered with thick gravy and mixed vegetables. A large glass of mulled wine and bread so fresh it steamed made up the remainder of his meal. The broth seemed more like a thick soup. He stirred it with a metal spoon, scooping up a bit before letting the spoon plop back.

"Hungry or do you plan on crying all night?" he tossed over his shoulder.

"I wasn't crying!" Wolfram's voice warbled. Murata turned to study him. He'd slung on leg off the edge of the bed and seemed to hunch over when he felt Murata's gaze on him. "I don't even know who you are!"

"I suspect you don't know much of anything," Murata said without thinking. Then the importance of what Wolfram had said hit him. He studied him for several long moments, turning over what he'd said. "Come."

Wolfram gave him as if he were crazy. He rubbed his bare arms up and down and he stoically ignored him, but his eyes kept darting towards the food.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" He cocked a brow at him. "Do you need me to help you?" Murata knew he was pressing Wolfram, perhaps too far. But he'd never been awake for so long nor spoken with such life, if you could call it that. He couldn't have Wolfram slip back into his dreams. It was probably a much more preferable place to the real world.

'He doesn't remember me,' he thought, watching him.

Bright color blazed in Wolfram's cheeks. It made him look a hundred fold more beautiful than he had. "I don't need your help!" he said stiffly. He swung his other leg over the edge, his complete concentration on standing up. He took a shaky step and Murata crossed the small length to help him, but he collapsed before he could reach him.

Wolfram glowered up at him.

"I'm sorry, Wolfram. I thought you could make it," Murata murmured, bending over him. "In all my lifetimes, I've never been a nurse." He sighed and braced himself, pulling Wolfram to his feet. The blond might look all of five pounds soaking wet but weighed much more in reality. "Let's eat and go to sleep, okay?"

Wolfram made no answer and he felt asleep instantly once his head touched the pillow.

Murata couldn't sleep that easily. The meal had been pleasant if quiet and Wolfram seemed to visibly wilt at the table, as if each moment longer was increasing the strain to stay awake. He'd been hungry enough to fight to stay away, though. Murata felt that was somehow important. It was also the first time in a week he'd shown any interest in food.

Moreover, why had Wolfram reacted like that to his energy? It certain hadn't been the first time he'd energized him.

Murata laid down on his bed and wondered what would happen to Wolfram after all this had settled out and he had enough strength to return to Shin Makoku. He'd probably be weaker in magical skills than he was before. Murata didn't know how anyone could ever get back to that level again. He might even have to stop soldiering. Oh, how that would irk him.

Shibuya might be pleased, though. Hadn't he been trying to get Wolfram to stop running around the countryside? The thought made him smile.

What was he thinking? He felt foolish. Of course Wolfram would never be the same. Wolfram hadn't remembered him and he'd thought the chances of that were close to impossible. Shibuya had been the central cause of instigating the power of the plate. Wolfram had no attachments to him and he should've remembered him. It was obvious that things effects were far larger than he'd thought or maybe he'd mistaken the source of what had triggered it.

He stared at the easy rise and fall of Wolfram's slow breathing. Previously, he'd thought Wolfram would forget Shibuya, maybe Gretta, and a handful of experiences in the past five years. Now he wasn't so certain and he hated that. You can't build great military strategy if the major piece of the puzzle was gone.

His whole plan had been based on assumptions but what could he do? Take him back to the capital and let him drift asleep forever? He was doing the right thing.

Murata pushed everything else out of his mind, for the night anyway, and let himself drift to a fitful sleep.

The rest of the trip when smoothly enough. Murata didn't bother to give Wolfram a full scrub down each morning and changed his clothes only once each day, recycling the clothes as he didn't want to dig through the boxes and trunks Weller had packaged. It was easier this way for him and even thought the blond started to smell a bit more at the end of each day, at least he wasn't giving him more ammunition to hate him for.

The energy dumps each morning had assured a lasting distaste in Wolfram, he was certain. He dumped as much as he could stand each morning, noon, and night, and Wolfram shuddered and made as if he was being attacked each time. He was unsuccessful in drawing him into conversation again as well.

Wolfram was waking for longer periods of time and the initial period of confusion seemed to lesson with each wakening. Murata wasn't sure if that was good or not.

On the afternoon of the sixth day they arrived at the entrance to the farm. This farm, not known by any other name than "the farm" by those who go, was set on an immense acreage. You took the west road off the main highway and had to go down a packed dirt road for an hour through clumps of woodland and intermitted farmlands.

"I think we're here," Murata said, looking out the window. He moved closer and threw open the curtains before turning to Wolfram. "See?" he gestured.

Wolfram didn't seem interested. He shifted his eyes away from where Murata was pointing and decided the dusty, dirty ground was more important a thing to look at.

Murata sent him an ugly look before wondering he'd become such a child himself. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the window, staring. He was looking forward to being free of the carriage for a long while.

The crested a turn and broke through the heavy bit of forest to see the farm in all it's glory. It looked less like any farm house he'd ever seen before. The mansion was a three story white-washed monster. It seemed so out of place amongst the rustic countryside. He supposed it wouldn't please the nobles who traveled here from afar to live in a squat farmhouse.

The carriage pulled up on the outsider side of the long, circular driveway and stopped. He wanted to race from the carriage and into the fresh spring morning but he made himself turn to Wolfram again. "We're --" He stopped. Wolfram had conveniently fallen asleep again. It would be half as funny if he didn't do it every time they stopped. "Such a brat," he said, not caring if Wolfram had hear him.

He left him in the carriage with the strict orders for Vickter to watch him. The other men set about unloading the carriage and soon they were greeted by grooms from the stables sent to look after their horses. Murata looped up the white stairs to the entrance and knocked on the door.

He felt moderately stupid doing as such and when no one answered -- well, it was an INN, he told himself -- he pushed the heavy oak doors in and walked into the relative cool of the manor house. He was always through the large front room when a fat man bustled in wiping his hands on a clean apron. His ruddy face lit up with delight when he noticed him.

"My Lord!" he greeted, enfolding Murata's preferred hand in both of his own. His palms were sweating and Murata had to repress the urge to wipe his own palms on his pants when the man let go. "I'm Dmitriy Belenki, but all my friends call me Dima." He pushed sweaty bangs off his forehead. "It seems to be getting hotter by the minute, does it not?"

Murata smiled and agreed with this. Dima took him through the first room and into the back, pointing out three lovely sitting rooms that drew people who needed the sun. There was a large public dining room where guests could mingle over their dinner. A live band played once or twice a week for those couples who liked to dance. If mingling was his thing, Dima said, they also had two private dinning rooms and dinner could always be brought to his room.

This "farm" was much larger than he'd thought. The building must go on a ways in the back. He followed the owner down hallways and through corridors to a large kitchen.

"Do you drink?" Dima asked, stopping by a large door. "We have a wonderful wine cellar. Only the best for our guests."

"A little," Murata admitted. He looked back where they'd come and thought he'd left Wolfram alone for too long. "I drink a bit with meals, some in good company, but I never enjoy getting drunk."

Dima laughed. "Me too, friend. Me too. I can't stand drunkards but ... well, not matter that." He wiped his brow away with the back of his hand and said, "Oh, I'm sure you'll be wanting to see your rooms. We reserved the best rooms for you in our modest inn."

Dima ushered Murata back to the front of the farmhouse, one arm slung jovially over his shoulder. They came to the front door and a set of wide wooden stairs. He made as if he would leave Murata up them, stopping only to give interesting tidbits about the paintings that lined the walls, but Murata stopped him.

"Mr. Belenki, er --" He stopped at the crestfallen look on the inn keepers face. "I mean Dima. Dima, I requested ground floor rooms," he said. Again that sad face. Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that. "My companion; I don't think he can get up and down stairs just yet."

"Oh yes, but surely ... They are the best, after all, and ..."

Murata shook his head. "I'm sure they are wonderful rooms. I want to give him incentive to wander around the farm, however, and a flight of stairs hardly seems like motivation to me." Still Dima looked unsure. He took a step closer and placed his hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing tightly. "We can move again once he's stronger, if that pleases you."

It did seem to lessen the dark cloud but he still looked resigned. "Whatever the Master wants," Dima said in a false-cheery voice. He looked about him until he caught sight of a maid. "Vera!"

She paused and looked, then came over at the gestures he made to her. She bobbed a curtsy to Murata. Vera was a passable beauty, Murata thought. Her brown hair was twisted into a bun on the top of her hair with little wisps falling about her face.

"Please get the two back rooms ready for Lord Murata and his guest. Get as many of the other maids to help, if you please, and let Mistress Gapon know."

She curtsies again and left.

Dima showed him the two large rooms that would be his and Wolfram's shortly with much less enthusiasm. He explained about the woman, telling Murata that she'd come highly recommended. All the way from the capital and if anyone could heal the Lord, it would be her.

"No twin beds?" Murata asked, turning around in a circle. He really wanted to sleep in the same room with Wolfram but didn't want to share a bed with him. He'd heard stories, needless to say. He didn't like the idea of leaving him alone. Wolfram would probably be disoriented and if word got out the fianc was here, alone without a detail of soldiers, anything could happen.

Dima's eyes narrowed and he started to fan himself furiously. "It's so hot this spring," he complained but Murata was certain he was saying more about him than the weather. "We don't have any twin beds here, my Lord," he said after a long pause.

Murata arched a brow but said nothing. The man looked as if he would pass out as it was. Instead he walked to each of the doors and pulled it open until he found a connecting door that linked the two rooms. He supposed he could lock the doors from the inside and keep the key with him, just leaving the connecting door open.

"What about Mistress Gapon?"

"A lot of our more ... discerning patrons bring servants with them." He walked to one of the side of the room and drew open a door. I'd thought it was just a small chamber off the main room. "All of our guest rooms have such accommodations for the servants. Or, if she wants, she can sleep in the attic with the maids."

Murata stared. He didn't like the look of that small room. He'd been high born more lives than he'd been a servant but the lives he spent cleaning up after the rich always had a greater impression on him. The room looked rather inhumane with no windows but some people would accept that in order to be closer to their masters. He sighed and nodded. "I'll leave it up to her then."

They met Mistress Gapon on the way back to the front. Murata insisted on seeing how Wolfram was doing and they almost collided in the hallway. Murata stared hard for the second time today. Why, Mistress Gapon looked amazingly like Jozek would in a dress, right down to the twinkling blue eyes. She winked at him.

Mistress Gapon followed behind him as they walked back to the carriage. "How is the Lord? Was the trip hard on him?"

Murata didn't answer until they were back outside. He paused at the top of the stairs to look back at him. "He's waking up more and more but ..." Vickter had propped Wolfram into a seated position on the floor of the carriage, his legs dangling out. He blinked owlish eyes and paid more attention to the pebbles littering the ground than he did to the party walking over to him, but at least he was awake.

"He's been sick," he said when Jozek walked over to him.

Wolfram lifted his head, blinking against the afternoon brightness. Jozek put his hand on Wolfram's forehead before tilting his head to the right and left. The Prince pulled away from this evasive study and almost fell back. Jozek's hand was the only thing that kept him upright.

"What a ... fragrant Lord," Jozek said over his shoulder in a squeaky feminine voice.

Murata rolled his eyes but he didn't think the man saw. "I'm sure you'll do better," he said, trying to be amiable.

Jozek picked Wolfram up in a sweeping gesture and carried into the Inn.

"Ah, wait Dima," said Murata. He climbed into the carriage and rummaged through his personal tote bag and pulled out the sealed letter. "The payment, I believe, is discussed in there."

Dima stuffed the letter into a hip pocket and nodded.

"Thank you for this hospitality," Murata said.

TBC~

Please R&R if you want. :)


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